


I Need Some Clarity

by orphan_account



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-08
Updated: 2012-03-08
Packaged: 2017-11-01 16:14:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/358785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As a little boy, Merlin had seen everything.</p><p>Now, he needs a little bit of help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Need Some Clarity

**Author's Note:**

> Before anyone tries to object to the general anachronicity of this fic, as well as what is likely inaccurate medical information, I would like to remind everyone that this is fiction. Fan fiction, to be exact. For _Merlin_ , which kind of thrives on a Renaissance Faire-like amalgamation of medieval and Renaissance atmosphere.
> 
> To read this on my LJ, go here: http://kleinefee92.livejournal.com/42189.html#cutid1

As a little boy, Merlin had seen everything.

When Sarah could not find the tiny circle of twine, which she had proudly worn since her late husband put it on her finger one late summer night in her sixteenth year, little Merlin had found it in the field, blushing and smiling as she squeezed his slight form, tears of joy falling into his black tumble of curls. When Will lost the tiny white dog carving his father left before fighting for his lord, Merlin spotted it in the bed of the river they often bathed in and pretended not to hear his best friend’s sniffles. When his own mother misplaced a blue pin she wore in her hair, typically concealed by her cloth covering, he searched among the blue flowers which always bloomed near their house in spring and feigned deafness when she whispered, “Beloved,” once he returned the only non-living proof of her erstwhile lover.

The years passed and Merlin began to see less. Will rarely ever accused him of having a ‘hawk’s eye – no, sorry, a _Merlin_ ’s,’ as they grew older. His mother blamed the late nights he spent reading by magiclight, and he protested that there was too much that needed to be done during the day, and how else was he supposed to be able to return the books to the traveling book cart in time?

Camelot opened up an entirely new avenue for reading materials – the library – but his numerous duties, magical studies, researching and writing speeches, and late-night escapades to ensure Arthur’s safety, limited his leisure reading, and so he persisted in pouring over novels and history and alchemy and whatever else piqued his interest by the cheerful blue sphere.

In retrospect, he should have seen something like this coming, even with his deteriorating eyesight.

Every one of his friends among the knights called out to him, but the din of the field was too great to hear over, and then it was too late, because he was flat on his back, dazed.

The blurred figure of his king blocked the harsh glare of the sun, and he squinted, striving for focus. Gathered all around them, the knights watched, expressions of worry warring with slight amusement.

He felt Arthur’s hand manually examining the already forming lump on his temple; a parting gift from the cup which had gone sailing during another of Gwaine and Percival’s scuffles on the practice field. Merlin, coming outside after delivering a tonic for the aged Sir Brent, had not seen the projectile coming.

“Well it looks as if you’re going to have quite the bump later. Haven’t you ever heard of ducking, you idiot?” Arthur scolded his friend to conceal his worry at the trickle of blood which came away from the wound, reminding himself that head wounds simply bled more freely, and that in the course of their acquaintance, the manservant had managed to receive graver wounds than this.

Pain making him even more contrary than normal, Merlin scowled up at him.  “I didn’t know I needed to, _Sire_.”

“How could you not see it? It was coming straight for you!”

“You know, I’m kind of hurt here. If all you’re going to do is fuss at me, I’ll skip it and go take care of this myself.” Hoping to put his words into actions, Merlin tried to sit up, only to experience the joyful sensation of vertigo.

Arthur raised an eyebrow. “That’s certainly working well for you.” Not taking his eyes off of the injured man, he declared, “Percival, since it seems my manservant is not only blind, but also even more useless on his feet than normal, you’re going to have to carry him to Gaius’.”

On any other day, he would have protested having his friend carry him about like a damsel – _again_ – and the idea of moving at all after the unwelcome tilting and whirling of the world really just made him want to curl into a ball and never move from his current location; perhaps he might even conjure a sign declaring this bit of land his own, but as that would involve invoking his magic in front of bystanders… best not. Decision reached, he graciously allowed Percival to lift him from the ground, keeping his mouth firmly shut to avoid leaving behind unwanted reminders of his most recent meal – and perhaps several meals prior.

The time between the field and the physician’s quarters was spent breathing deliberately in and out of his nose and keeping his eyes firmly shut to outside stimuli. Mercifully, Percival made no attempt at conversation. To his left, Merlin could hear a second pair of boots keeping pace with Percival’s long strides, and he distracted himself from his discomfort by trying to divine the identity of their companion.

Their journey came to an end, and Percival gave a soft, “Thanks,” which rumbled through his chest and into Merlin’s ear.

 A vague, “No problem, Perce,” solved the mystery which diverted Merlin’s mind during their travels, and something in him eased. He loved Gaius, but it would be a relief to have Gwaine there with him, with his easy sense of humor and ability to take life in stride.

“Oh my – put him over there, Percival. Yes, thank you.” Judging by the heavily retreating footfalls, Percival departed upon completing his task, not wishing to be in the way.

Situated on the table reserved for Gaius’ patients, Merlin chanced opening his eyes. His mentor bustled to and fro, gathering up supplies and directing a lingering Gwaine to fetch fresh water for cleaning the wound. Once settled beside him, Gaius peered down at Merlin in concern. “Now, what happened?”

Still not keen on the concept of speaking, lest more than words escape his lips, Merlin let Gwaine handle it; he was, after all, quite accomplished in all loqutionary matters. “Perce and I were fooling around the field and the cup we were fighting over went flying. Merlin came onto the field at exactly the wrong moment, didn’t hear us hollering, and got hit in the head.” Gaius worked while Gwaine explained, cleaning the mark and then daubing it with honey.

Bindings in place, the physician enquired, “How far away was he, would you say? Close enough to see it heading toward him?”

“Normally, I’d say yes, but he told Arthur he never saw the cup.”

Gwaine’s response prompted a resigned sigh from Gaius, who muttered, “I should never have let it go this far,” to himself, before addressing Merlin. “You’ve a concussion, I believe, and once you’ve recovered there is another matter we must discuss. Gwaine, stay with Merlin and keep him awake. I need to see Karl Moriston about something.”

“The glassblower?” Merlin watched Gwaine master his surprised confusion following Gaius’ departure by grabbing a pail, “In case you decide to paint something with the insides of your stomach, my friend,” and pulling up a stool. Properly perched, Gwaine took Merlin’s closest hand into his own, and Merlin’s usual desire to prevent his friend from false hope all but disappeared in favor of his need for comfort. It wasn’t lack of interest, after all. It was lack of emotional availability, so tied as he was to Arthur’s needs, wants, desires.

Preparing for some sort of emotional declaration or sentimental statement, he was pleasantly surprised when Gwaine merely apologized for his part in Merlin’s injured state, and then launched into an embellished anecdote of yet another mishap from his long years of traversing Albion.

By the time Gwaine had finished three more stories, and was well into his fifth, Gaius returned with his satchel making tinkling notes with every step. “Thank you Gwaine; that will be all. I believe dinner is about to start soon, so you’d best be off.”

Merlin almost broke his silence to ask Gwaine to stay, but his stomach clenched in phantom nausea and he remained quiet.

The next day, Gwaine visited and informed him that Arthur was a little lost without him, and that the king eagerly awaited Merlin’s return. Well, actually, what he said was, “The princess can barely tell which boot goes on each foot, and he keeps yelling for you before he remembers you’re not allowed to slave over him for a while. We’ll all be glad when you can set him to rights – even him, not that he’d ever admit it.”

Merlin mentally gave thanks to the universe that his vertigo had slunk off in the night, as his beseeching look held far more weight whilst sitting upright. “I know he’s a prat, but could you try to look after him while I’m stuck in here? For me?” He was fairly certain he should feel guilty for manipulating his best friend this way, but it was hard to do so when Gwaine adamantly refused to acknowledge Merlin’s blatant abuse of his affections, particularly in recent months. Oddly enough, Gwaine had this idea that he needed to make up for the months when he had spent most of his spare time with the other knights, as though he had neglected Merlin somehow.

Gwaine grimaced good-naturedly. “You don’t have to do that, Merlin. You know I’m going to say yes.”

Merlin rearranged his features, settling on slightly embarrassed. “Right, sorry. Um – thanks?”

“Anything for you.” The worst part was that, in spite of the flippant tone, Gwaine meant it.

Shifting uncomfortably, Merlin glanced away from the man beside him and mumbled, “You shouldn’t.”

“Shouldn’t what? Shouldn’t care so much? That’s not something that’s going to stop any time soon.” When he could bring himself to look back, warm amber eyes met his own without censure. “I knew what I was getting into the day I met you – hard not to, the way you looked at Arthur back then. Still do, in fact.” He leaned closer, placing a warm and calloused hand on Merlin’s thigh. “But you know something? It was worth it. And no matter what happens, it’s always _going to be_ worth it.”

Merlin swallowed against the swell of emotion Gwaine’s words inspired, and watched the man rise with sensual grace. “You’re leaving?”

“I’ll be back later – training is about to start, and as lovely as I find your company, I did promise to look after a certain spoiled noble.”

He was half-way to the door of the Gaius’ chambers before Merlin called urgently, “Gwaine?” He glanced back. “Me, too.”

It could have meant a number of things, but Gwaine nodded and told him, “I know,” and then he left.

…

“Too blurry.”

“How about this one?”

A quick breath, “Too sharp!” and a hand brought up to a scrunched forehead in a vain attempt to stave off a growing headache.

“This one?”

“That… That’s perfect!”

“Truly?”

“Have you always had that mole?” The disgruntled look this inspired was mitigated by Gaius’ pleasure at finally finding the right thickness.

After several days of resting, the physician had declared Merlin fully healed, and then proceeded to explain exactly what he had retrieved from Camelot’s best glassblower. The two of them had spent the last frustrating hour trying to find the glass that Karl would use to create a pair of spectacles for Merlin.

When he first heard of his impending wardrobe addition, Merlin had vehemently opposed the idea – no one else wore glasses, save Gaius and Geoffrey, and even they only wore them whilst reading. He really did not want to have one more reason to feel different from the rest of the world – and this one would be out there for everyone to see. However, Gaius eventually quelled his resistance by reminding him that impaired vision could eventually make Merlin a less effective protector for Arthur.

“Excellent. I’ll just take these off to Karl. They should be done within a few days.” He pinned Merlin, who had been about to flee for his room and the comfort of his latest novel – a fascinating exploration of the emersion of different druidic tribes – and said, “Now, Merlin. If you wish to preserve what eyesight you have left, you will have to take better care of it. No more reading in the dark.“ He held up a hand to forestall Merlin’s argument, “Unless, of course, it is absolutely unavoidable. I’m sorry, my boy. I know how much you enjoy reading, but some things are more important.”

Merlin nodded jerkily and then entered his little sanctuary, collapsing on his bed and staring up at the ceiling. Though he had sufficiently recovered from his incident on the training grounds, he still tired easily, and he drifted off to thoughts of exactly how much teasing he could expect from his friends in the near future, both for the accident and for his new spectacles.

Several days later, he stormed out of Arthur’s chambers, letting the heavy oaken door slam shut in his wake. He would have continued his rapid exit, had his path not been obstructed by another person who came around the corner, gently catching his shoulders. “Here now, what’s this about?” Miraculously, Gwaine said not a word about the glasses sliding inexorably down his friend’s nose – he had been warned about them shortly after Gaius sent the right glass off to Karl Moriston, but so had Arthur, and this was still his first time to actually see them – merely waiting for an explanation.

“Arthur is an inconsiderate, overbearing, childish prat.” Though he spat the information, Merlin swiftly lost his ire; he had known that this would happen, yet for some reason he had been powerless to prevent himself from giving Arthur the reaction he wanted. Merlin wondered briefly if Arthur would ever cease using him as an easy outlet for his irritation with the world in general: the outlook was poor.

Gwaine sighed not-unkindly. “I’d offer to teach him a lesson in manners, but I have a feeling I know what your answer will be.”

“Honestly, if I weren’t the one who would have to deal with his whinging later, I might be tempted to say ‘yes’,” Merlin admitted.

Raising a hand up to tangle in Merlin’s dark locks, Gwaine pulled the paler forehead against his own, mindful not to dislodge his new accessory unduly. “That bad?”

He made a strangled noise in the back of his throat. “You’d never know he was charged with governing the lives of hundreds with the level of immaturity to which he sometimes stoops.”

Taking a chance and trying to take his mind off of Arthur’s laundry list of interpersonal short-comings, Gwaine shared lowly, “Just so you know, I happen to find your glasses fetching.”

Merlin considered his options. He could let the reference to their mutual attraction slide, or he could allow himself to actually be happy for once and respond in kind, more directly than he had the other day in Gaius’ chambers. Finally deciding that he was tired of denying them what they both wanted, and that Arthur could live with not being the center of his existence, especially given his recent nuptials, he probed, “How fetching, exactly?” and then pulled away enough to be able to actually watch Gwaine’s emotions as they passed over his face.

“Fetching enough to do this,” he breathed, leaning in to catch Merlin’s lips, completely ignoring the fact that they were out in the open, and inviting Merlin to feign oblivion right along with him.

Grinning, Merlin tilted his head to avoid harming his friend with his frames, and let the world fall away.

He would have to thank Gaius profusely later; his lenses had certainly helped to put certain matters into perspective.

 

 


End file.
